PomPoms Up!

by Carol Cleveland

  Earlier that day, Mummy and I had a surprise visit from my father, David. I hadn’t seen him for many months, so both of us were thrilled to see him and happy that he’d remembered my special day. Mummy made some tea while he explained that he’d been in London on business and decided to combine that with a visit to us. He asked how I was getting on at RADA and I told him I’d just graduated. So far, he hadn’t wished me a Happy Birthday. Eventually, Mummy said:

  “You do know it’s your daughter’s birthday today?”

  “Oh!… Is it?… Oh yes, of course it is!…. Let’s see…. You’re eighteen today!”

  It wasn’t just me – Daddy never remembered the dates or ages of any of his children! I was a bit hurt, but at least he’d visited. An agent friend of mine invited me out to celebrate my birthday and said that he had a blind date for me. I arrived at the restaurant to find that my date was none other than Anthony Newley and after a very pleasant evening Anthony took me home. I invited him in for a coffee, even though neither of us drank coffee. We sat and chatted for a while, mainly about his wife Joan Collins, who I think he was missing very much. He was a complete gentleman and gave me a lovely kiss before he departed.

  Two months later, my career took off. I appeared in my first TV play, The Touch of a Dead Hand, starring Samantha Eggar. Samantha was a co-star in Ian’s film The Wild and the Willing, and I’d always wondered if he might have had a fling with her. I was thinking this could be my chance to find out, but we didn’t have a scene together – which was probably for the best. I played the daughter of the actress Lois Maxwell, who also played ‘Miss Moneypenny’ in the first fourteen Bond films. She was a lovely lady and a joy to work with.

  The following month, I got my first film role in Mister Ten Per Cent starring Charlie Drake. It wasn’t a particularly challenging role as I was playing ‘an actress’, but it was an enjoyable experience nonetheless. There were half a dozen glamorous girls who, like me, were relative newcomers, and I made several lasting friendships, one of them being Valerie Leon, who is still best known as ‘The Hai Karate Girl’ from the Hai Karate Aftershave TV commercials. The best thing about this job was that I was working with my mother for the first time! My becoming an actress had rekindled her own desire to get back into the business. She had signed up with an agency that supplied ‘extras’ and ‘walk-ons’ for film and television and here we were doing the same scene together in a London theatre. I was on the stage and she was in the audience. Over the coming years I would, whenever possible, get Mummy involved in whatever I was doing.

  Two years on, I would find myself working with Charlie Drake again in the film The Cracksman. It was a small part of a hat check girl, strangely dressed as a pirate, in a nightclub. This time my scene was with him, alone. Being only 5’ 1”, his nose came up to my bust and that, of course, is why I had been cast. He was able to stare into my cleavage and deliver his famous catch-phrase, “Hello my darlings!” I didn’t mind that, as much as his habit of tapping my bottom every chance he got. There was another new, young actress in my scene that was getting the same attention. We were glad that we’d have each other’s company and support on the next day’s filming. The following morning I arrived on set but she was nowhere to be seen. One of the wardrobe girls told me that, as the actress was getting out of her costume the previous evening, Charlie had sent a message requesting that she come to his dressing room. I don’t know whether she went or not but she never showed up for the second day’s filming and I felt greatly relieved that it wasn’t me who received that message.

  One month after filming The Cracksman I had a lead role in a BBC radio play, The Way Things Go, with Kenneth More. This was the first chance I’d had to thank him for his offer of a ‘nose job.’ He said that he actually thought my own nose was quite pretty and was probably best left alone. This role, like the previous ones, required an American accent. In fact, I predominantly played ‘Americans’ for several years. There was quite a bit of work for American and Canadian actors in the film industry then, and, as I had dual nationality, I had no problem getting it.

  I didn’t have another job lined up immediately and it was coming up to summer time. I’d picked up the travel bug from my mother and I fancied a holiday somewhere in Europe. I regularly bought the theatrical journal The Stage and, while perusing the job section in its back pages, I came across an advertisement seeking an assistant to the director of the European Song Contest, which would take place in July in Knokke-Le-Zoute, Belgium. I immediately applied and got the job. This would be the first of many working holidays. As opposed to the much bigger Eurovision Song Contest, this was only a six-nation contest and my job was primarily to help look after our five British contestants; Lyn Cornell, Mike Preston, Johnny de Little, Bobby Green and a 16-year-old Clodagh Rodgers. Clodagh was a delightful girl and we had a lot of laughs together. Her song was the very lively ‘Jack in the Box’ which, funnily enough, was to feature years later in Monty Python’s Flying Circus. In Episode 34, The Cycling Tour, ‘Mr Gulliver’ (Michael Palin) collides with a car and receives a concussion, after which he is convinced he’s Clodagh Rogers. At the end of the sketch an animated monster dances up and down to her song.

  As this job allowed me some free time, one sunny afternoon I went across the road to the beach and sunbathed for a couple of hours, but, as I attempted to leave the beach, I was stopped by a policeman who said:

  “You cannot come onto the street like that.”

  I was wearing what I thought to be a highly respectable bikini and nothing like the skimpy ones I’d left at home. Over it, I had on a short white cardigan. I had no mobile phone in those days, so I couldn’t call for help. A couple of gallants offered me their trousers before the policeman finally conceded that if I wrapped my legs in a towel I could run the 100 yards back to my hotel. It was all highly embarrassing, but it made good publicity for the contest. The next day, both the Mirror and Daily Sketch newspapers back home had big photos of me walking along the promenade in the now notorious bikini.

  On my return home, my agent had an interview lined up for me to meet the producer and director of a new thirteen part TV series called The Sentimental Agent, starring Argentinian actor Carlos Thompson. I had not heard of Carlos but my mother had and she practically swooned at the mention of his name – apparently he was a bit of a heart-throb. From appearing in movies in Argentina, he then went to Hollywood, where he typically played European womanisers – and now he had moved to Europe. I met him at the interview and immediately recognised him. I had, of course, seen him many times on the silver screen. It suddenly hit me that I might be working with a big Hollywood star who, as a teenager, I had drooled over. The interview went well and I was offered my first starring role on television, playing a Texan millionairess. When the opening credits rolled, it said “Introducing Carol Cleveland” which was cause for celebration and much merriment at the Cleveland household. This time Mummy made sure we had plenty of brandy in stock!

  Mummy was right to swoon. Carlos was debonair, dashingly handsome and oozing with charm. I certainly wouldn’t object to HIM patting my bottom! Unfortunately, he was too much of a gentleman to do so. Noël Coward’s diaries suggest he was bisexual, but I refuse to believe such hogwash! He was a natural flirt, but very happily married to the German-born actress Lilli Palmer, alas! He was very helpful too, explaining all the film jargon to me; what each crew member’s duties were; how to get the best lighting, etc. I was fascinated by it all and would stand and watch each scene, until Carlos took me by the hand one day and led me to my chair, saying, “This is your chair with your name on it. You should sit and take advantage of it while you can.”

  We had much fun doing this light-hearted comedy drama, but there was one rather frightening episode while on location. I was required to do a bit of driving, but not for any distance, thankfully. I had driven in California but only on an automatic, so I now had to get a learner’s licence and quickly master a stick shift. I thought I had, until the day ca
me to do a scene in which Carlos and I walk out of a stately home, jump into a little Corvette and I drive us swiftly off and out of shot. We did several takes where I only managed to jerk out of shot. I think Carlos got a bit concerned at this stage because he asked the director if he might take a little break while his stand-in took his place in the car. It was a long driveway with bushes on either side that offered some shade to the cast and crew. Carlos took his chair and joined them there. I was more determined than ever now to get it right. “Take 5,” shouts the clapper boy; “Action!” shouts the director and I leap into the driving seat, slam into first gear, put my foot down and zoom off so fast that I’ve very little space in which to turn the car towards the gate. I’m heading straight for Carlos! I manage to turn the wheels just as I reach him, but not before I’ve seen the look of fear on his face as he flies backwards into the bushes. I stop the car and, with great trepidation, look back over my shoulder. Carlos is on the ground with everyone rushing up to him! I sit there thinking, “Oh my God…Carol, what have you done?! This is my first big role on TV and I’ve killed my leading man!” I look again and Carlos is up on his feet. Phew! Shaking, I went over to him, fully expecting him to be covered in blood. As it turned out the only damage done was to his fedora, as he threw himself backwards to avoid being hit. The dear man was laughing! However, when it came to doing my next car scene, in which I’m supposed to stop abruptly in front of a policeman, it was decided the car would be pushed, rather than driven, into shot.

  Aside from the driving, I very much enjoyed playing the role, although having watched it again fairly recently, I think I was a bit… dare I admit it… over the top! But it wasn’t just me… the whole cast seem to be going OTT! Things were different then. We were still watching television for a bit of escapism. Now it’s all about realism – a bit too real for my liking. I only saw Carlos once again, some years later when I bumped into him at a nightclub. He had stopped acting and was now a writer and TV producer. He was his usual charming self and we were able to have a little chat about my career. He was pleased that it was going well and said that he never doubted it would. In 1990 I was stunned and deeply saddened to hear of his death, aged only 67. He had committed suicide by a gunshot to his head.

  During the summer of this year, I met my new love, Valentino Musetti. Val was a film and TV stunt man and a black belt in Judo. He had won the British Junior Championship in 1958. He was tall, dark, handsome and, as his name suggests, Italian. I met him at a Martial Arts Club in Central London, which I had started going to in order to learn a bit of judo myself. The centre was run by two brothers, Joe and Doug Robinson, both of them also actors and stuntmen who came from a famous family of wrestlers. Joe had wrestled under the name of ‘Tiger Joe Robinson’ and had won the European Heavyweight Championship in 1952. They had taught Honor Blackman her Judo self-defence tactics for her portrayal of Cathy Gale in The Avengers TV series. I wanted to learn Judo in order that I might be considered as her replacement when the time came. Sadly, Diana Rigg got that role and instead I ended up playing her rival in one episode. Well, maybe I didn’t get the job, but I did get my own private Judo instructor!

  I went to the club regularly, until it eventually closed down when Joe moved to Brighton on the South Coast. I’d lost interest in Judo by then, but I did at least advance to a yellow belt. As you might imagine, the club was a very macho place with not many female members. The smell of sweat hit you as you descended the basement stairs, and there were no separate facilities for the ladies – just a thin curtain that didn’t quite close at one end. The Robinson brothers were quite competitive, especially when there were girls about. I remember being there one day when both of them, having been filming the night before, were feeling tired and therefore designated Val to take over as instructor. They’d both just sat down when a pair of shapely legs wearing high heels was spotted coming down the stairs. The two of them immediately leapt into action – Joe grabbing Val and throwing him over his shoulder across the room, while Douggie slammed the poor, unsuspecting student to the floor. I couldn’t stop laughing and got a dirty look from both of them.

  It was coming up to the end of my first year in show-business and I thought it time to put my voice to the test and do some theatre work. I’d been fortunate in getting film and TV work so soon after leaving RADA, whereas most actors would do a stint in Repertory first. I did it the other way round and, in November, I joined the Lincoln Theatre Company, where I performed in two plays and the Christmas pantomime Cinderella, in which I was the principal boy, Prince Charming. I thought I’d done a pretty good job with my first English role until I read a review that ended with, “It is a puzzle to know why at times during musical numbers she breaks into an American accent.” Ah well – at least it was only during the singing!

  Chapter Six

  THE SWINGING SIXTIES

  Was I a swinger in the sixties? Well, yes…. a bit. I certainly was in one sense of the word. I could do a mean hip swing and twist on the dance floor! I still loved dancing and Saturday nights were always Disco nights. Val was a good mover too, especially when dancing to Latin-American numbers. We’d Samba, Cha-Cha and Rumba the night away, and, if there was a Tango, people would sometimes stand back and just watch us sweeping around the floor.

  I had an abundance of energy then and I’d be the first one on the dance floor and the last one off. The Pony, The Monkey, The Mashed Potato – I’d be up there doing them all. I went to a party at the home of comedy writer Jeremy Lloyd and his new wife Joanna Lumley, who was still a model then. I told them I’d just learnt the new line dance, The Madison. Jeremy went into the living room and announced that Carol was going to teach everyone the latest dance craze. We pushed the furniture aside and after the Madison went on to the Watusi! It was a great evening and they were a great couple. I was very surprised to hear only a few months later that they had split up.

  Thanks to Val, we were able to get into the best clubs in London and usually without paying. Many of the clubs were owned or managed by Italians and, one way or another, they all seemed to be related – Val had cousins everywhere! We’d arrive at one of our favourite haunts, The Crazy E – later to become Tramps – on Jermyn Street, where there would be the usual lengthy queue going down the steps to the club. Val would shout down to the doorman:

  “Ciao Alberto!”

  “Ciao Valentino! Come stai? And the lovely Carol… Ciao Bella! I’ll get you a table.”

  He always did, no matter how full it was. He would simply go off and return with a small round table and two chairs which he’d put down on the edge of the dance floor. Then a bottle of their house champagne would arrive. These were the days when you’d see any number of famous faces around you. One evening I clocked Ursula Andress dancing with the French actor Jean Paul Belmondo. On another occasion, when we were sitting in a booth, I realised two of the Beatles were right next to us. It wasn’t unusual to see the likes of Michael Caine or Richard Harris sitting at the bar in quiet conversation.

  After dancing the night away we always felt hungry, so it was off to the Old Covent Garden Market where we’d find an all-night café and share a gigantic breakfast. Most of the time we’d take a taxi there, but sometimes Val would have his car, an E-Type Jag. All his friends had E-Types too and we’d often race…. and I DO mean race…. down the A23 to Brighton for a fun weekend. At the market, I’d buy, beg or steal some flowers from the flower stalls to take home to Mummy, so she wouldn’t be angry with me for staying out so late. Or, sometimes we’d just go up to Soho and invite ourselves into one of the many Italian restaurants owned by one of Val’s many relatives. His mother owned one of them, which she ran with the help of his younger sister. Val would help out when he could and even I had a short spell as a waitress there. I would have stuck it out longer had it not been for the continuous rows amongst the family. Mind you, they didn’t begin to compare with the rows Val and I had! He was a passionate Latin and I was a redhead with Irish blood in me – an explo
sive combination!

  Val was prone to jealousy, which sadly would ultimately destroy our relationship. I was a bit of a ‘Dolly Bird’ then, and a bit of a flirt too, and I think he was afraid I’d rush off with someone else. He needn’t have worried, but he did, and consequently we had some almighty rows…. shamefully, sometimes in public and sometimes hugely embarrassing! On one occasion, after we’d arrived at a popular Italian restaurant near Marble Arch and had made our choices from the menu, I had a little look round to see who was there. There was a romantically entwined couple sitting in a corner and I thought I recognised his face, until he turned towards me and I realised I didn’t. Val caught what he thought was an exchange between us. He said:

  “Who’s that?”

  “Oh, I thought it was somebody I knew.”

  “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “No…. I don’t know him.”

  “You looked at him like you know him.”

  “Val…. I don’t know him!”

  A brief pause and then:

  “Have you been out with him?”

  By now I could feel my blood beginning to boil and I begged him to please stop this nonsense before it ruined our evening. Silence at last! My pasta starter had arrived and I was about to tuck in when….

  “If you’ve been out with him, why don’t you just tell me?”

  I picked up my plate of pasta and dumped it in his lap before quickly heading for the exit. On the way, I passed the loving couple who were now looking at me open-mouthed. I had to stop myself from saying:

  “It’s all YOUR fault!”

  You can imagine what would have happened to that poor guy if I had!

  This was nothing compared to what happened when I took Val to a party given by a new friend of mine whom he had not yet met. It was a relatively quiet evening until we got things going with some dancing. Val and I were doing our jive thing when suddenly something fell to the floor with a thud. Everyone stopped and stepped back in horror. It was a gun. Well, it wasn’t a real gun, but they weren’t to know that. It was a replica that he sometimes used in his stunt work and had forgotten to remove from his jacket pocket. The two of us were ushered into the kitchen where we were reprimanded by the hostess, who then suggested we leave quietly by the back door. Needless to say, that friendship didn’t last long.